


Ties That Bind

by Liv Campbell (perdikitti), William Alexander (zannyvix)



Series: Faerie Gifts [6]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Bluegrass Pack, Dominance, Fear, Gen, Kittens, Pack Drama, Protection, Werewolves, carpentry, renovation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdikitti/pseuds/Liv%20Campbell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannyvix/pseuds/William%20Alexander
Summary: Sam Willoughby is missing his mate, times ahead are uncertain, and no one has the slightest idea what the fae or the others who live in the shadows may do in the days to come. Luckily or unluckily, Owen has a project that just might fill Sam's time.





	1. Home Territory

**Author's Note:**

> We do not own anything in Patricia Briggs' universe. We just enjoy playing in it.
> 
> For the record, we prefer to write things that interweave with the existing canon, while disrupting the original world as little as possible. We want the stories and characters to feel as if they could be part of the same world, but playing out in different locations at the same time, before, or after events we see happen in the books and short stories. The folks we write with have similar aspirations. Canon characters may make appearances or be referenced, but our stories are primarily of other wolves and other packs. They're dealing with the same strictures and difficulties that the canon characters have dealt with, just in their own ways. For reference, this takes place right after Fair Game (Alpha and Omega series) ends and right before Frost Burned (Mercy Thompson series) begins.

As it turned out, sharing my home with Owen was a lot harder than I’d imagined.

Owen’s been my friend for a long while, by my standards, anyway. My wolf was territorial when Rob first moved in with me, but that was nothing compared to Owen’s stay. I thought our friendship would help more’n it did. My house ain’t all that big, and even when we're on friendly terms, two dominant wolves in close quarters is never really a comfortable thing. That Owen turned out more dominant than me, but my home is my turf, just made it worse.

Oh, he tried. The both of us tried real hard to make it work. Once Alec kicked him out of the big house, there weren’t a whole lot of options for Owen. He’s lived with the Alpha as long as I’ve known him. I guess he could’ve put a cot in the back room of the hat shop he owned, or gone to a hotel. Something told me needed to be around pack, even if it wasn’t totally comfortable. Maybe if Ms. Evelyn had been able to stay longer, it would’ve been easier. Maybe if I wasn’t still out of sorts over Rob being locked up with the rest of the fae on their reservations, I could’ve been more tolerant. But things were what they were, and we were stuck making the best of it. Nobody died, but I spent a fair amount of time scrubbing blood out of the impractically light hardwood floors I’d put in just to see Rob smile.

Politics and I don’t suit, but I found myself yearning for the Alpha to rescind his command and let Owen go home. Instead the stubborn bastard ordered me to keep Owen with me. I could've pulled on Alec’s authority to make Owen sit and stay, but I was getting real tired of wiping blood off my own floors, his and mine both. Things were a lot more peaceful if I let him have his way, or at least a lot easier on my floors.

It wasn’t a surprise, really, when I lost him. I was in the garage for all of ten minutes when I heard the front door close behind him. My assumption was that he just needed some air, maybe a walk around the neighborhood to help clear his head, so I didn’t start to worry until he didn’t show up for dinner that night. I could’ve run after Owen, but right when he left I was too relieved to have him out of my hair. Then I called his cellphone, and it went straight to voicemail. Our Alpha must’ve been paying more attention to the pack bonds than usual, because my reaction to _that_ got me a phone call from Alec almost before I’d hung up on Owen’s voicemail for the second time.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” he asked when I answered.

I sucked in a breath. “Owen took off and hasn’t come back yet,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t stop him, and now he ain’t answerin’ his phone.” There was no point in trying to lie to a werewolf, even over the phone, so I didn’t bother trying to soften the blow.

It didn’t matter that Alec wasn’t talking. I could hear him breathing, and other folks chattering about something or the other elsewhere in his home. No human would have picked it up, but I hadn’t been human for a long time.

“Sir?” I finally said. Interrupting the Alpha wasn’t wise. Letting a wolf as disturbed as Owen go out on the town was a lot worse.

“He lives.”

That was a relief, but not much of one. Given how the pack bonds worked, I was pretty sure I’d have felt it if Owen wasn’t with us anymore, but it was nice of Alec to confirm it. “Do you want me to go after him?” I asked.

Alec was quiet again for a long moment, and this time I didn’t dare interrupt. Even with the Alpha’s blessing, I couldn’t really force a more dominant wolf to do anything. He’d have to get Collin or Marlow involved if he wanted someone who could compel Owen to behave.

“No. Stay in your house. Eat. Rest. I will check the river tomorrow.”

My heart sank, but Alec had given me a direct command. I couldn’t disobey even if I wanted to. If Owen’s departure was a suicide, I would mourn with the pack, but I could not go against my Alpha any more than I could fly. “Yes, sir,” I agreed unhappily.

“Owen is old, Sam. None of this is your doing,” Alec said kindly before he hung up.

It didn’t make me feel any better. Owen was my friend, and I ought to have been able to help him, the way he’d helped me countless times before. Alec’s order kept me housebound with nothing to do but fret and hope. I left a couple messages on Owen’s phone, asking him to call when he got a chance, but that was the best I could do.

In some ways, being stuck in my empty house was even worse than when Owen had been there snapping and snarling at me. With Rob gone and my old coonhound Rosie several years passed away, it left me rattling around by myself and nothing to focus my nervous energy. I was too wound up for woodworking, and I knew better than to play with power tools in this state of mind. There wasn’t enough housework to occupy my attention, and while I ate, the food might as well have been sawdust for all I tasted it.

Leaving the television on for noise didn’t work either, since the news people kept breaking in with speculative reports on what the fae had been doing since the trial. They didn’t have any real information, but that just made me think about Rob. The mate bond helped a little, but it wasn’t the same as speaking to him, or having him there with me. I hadn’t had a conversation with him since that first night and my dream of Underhill. I had a feeling Rob had done something to his end of the bond to keep me from blundering back there again, accidentally or otherwise.

Now I was missing Rob _and_ Owen, and I hadn’t realized quite how much the two of them had anchored me until they were gone. I couldn’t help but worry.


	2. Owen’s Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen returns with a project for Sam... but have they bitten off more than they can chew?

Two agonizing days went by with no word from Owen. He didn’t call me back, but I didn't feel the death I anticipated in the pack bonds either. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. All I could guess at was that Owen needed some space and time to himself. _Rest_ , Alec had ordered, and I was helpless to resist.

I didn’t mean to nod off on the couch. I woke to Owen peering down at me. It startled me, and I was hard pressed to restrain my wolf’s immediate desire to attack. Have I mentioned werewolves have issues with territory? It took some effort, but I managed to redirect my wolf so the only casualty of my alarm was an unfortunate throw pillow.

“Dammit, Owen,” I muttered, staring down at the mess of shredded fabric and stuffing. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked while you’re sleeping. Anyone could just walk in,” Owen said.

“Forgot,” I grumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes. In truth, the only thing the door lock would do was keep a casually nosy human out, and most regular people made enough noise that it would have woken me up. Only someone like another werewolf had a snowball’s chance in hell of sneaking up on me like Owen had. Under any other circumstances I would let it lie, but his eyes were too bright, and Owen’s jaw was covered in rough red stubble. I’d never seen him with so much as a five o’clock shadow before.

“Owen, where’ve you been?” I asked, climbing up off the couch. “I’ve been worried sick the past couple days. Alec wouldn’t let me go look for you.” My nose gave me a couple clues. Wherever he’d been sleeping, it hadn’t been a hotel if the scent of mildew and musty fabric was any indication. The local ones were better kept than that.

Chips of poison yellow shone in his eyes, dimming the usual hazel. I wasn’t sure if his wolf wanted to talk about the Alpha or eat him. It didn’t matter. I no longer outranked my friend. Pushing Owen to tell me where he’d run off to would mean more bloodshed, especially with his wolf so close to the surface.

“We can’t share space forever. I need territory of my own.” Owen walked over to the window that looked out toward the garden and the big old oak that sheltered my Rosie’s resting place.

“Of course,” I agreed. Alec’s orders or not, Owen staying with me couldn’t be a permanent solution. Our wolves’ issues aside, sooner or later Rob would be back in the picture, and he and Owen had never gotten along. I would oust a thousand packs from my home to have Rob back at my side.

“Naturally, I have determined the best way to deal with our combined difficulties.” When Owen turned to face me he looked like himself again, albeit in strangely masculine clothes. I was used to Owen wearing frocks more than men’s suits. Whatever he wore was always beautiful, but his suit was wrinkled. I had never seen a wrinkle brave enough to encroach on Owen’s wardrobe.

“Have you?” I tried for neutrality and failed. Owen’s ideas were always a little out there. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear him propose something worse than usual.

“I get a house and you make it nice.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I can do that,” I allowed. Rob’s abrupt departure and the upset in the pack had forced me to clear my schedule, but jobs tended to be slower this close to the holidays anyway.

“Get dressed and I’ll take you to my project,” Owen decided.

“What, now?” It got dark early this late in the year. I wasn’t sure precisely what time it was, but the daylight was already fading fast.

“Yes, now.” There was a snap in his voice that warned me against arguing. I didn’t want to fight with Owen, not again.

“All right, give me a minute,” I said. It was that, or end up scrubbing yet more blood out of the living room throw rugs, and then do what he wanted anyway. Even so, I took the time for a fast shower before I threw on clean clothing. I’d neglected that in my fretting. Owen was still waiting in my living room when I came back down the stairs maybe fifteen minutes later. Alec’s orders didn’t seem to matter now that Owen had come back.

He made me drive. My home’s a little craftsman-style house in a decent older suburb of Lexington. Owen directed me a lot closer to downtown, through some of the seriously ritzy parts of town. We stopped in an old, grand part of Lexington, the sort of neighborhood where the folks next door were always fretting over pictures from the historical society when all a client wanted was to bring the plumbing up to codes from the previous century.

We walked a few blocks after parking near the old opera house. I’m no historian, but I work on old houses and have for a long time now. The ones around here were in good condition, but a fair number predated modern advances like electricity and the Emancipation Proclamation.

I knew which house he must be wanting as soon as we rounded the corner. It didn’t have a for sale sign, but restored places around here went into the millions. Owen wouldn’t be bunking with me if he had that sort of money. His interest was a ramshackle brick townhouse, the only one on the block with no signs of life. Dim light is no object to a werewolf, but I prayed my sight was going.

The townhouse was decorated with several pieces of brightly colored paper from the city, all helpfully taped up on the front door to advise the structure ought to be torn down. Ivy had taken root in the hedges out front and climbed up the brick toward the sky, warping the facade. The windows that weren’t boarded were cracked and thick with age. A bird’s nest hung jauntily over one corner of the door, just under a crack in the masonry that looked like the Grand Canyon in the fading sun.

I paused on the sidewalk. If the exterior was in such bad shape, it almost made me shudder to think of what the inside must look like. I smelled mold and mildew and all manner of critters from the paving stones out front, even with the front door sealed up to keep passerby from wandering in to die. Owen walked right up to the front door like he owned the place, and I bit back a wince.

“So, this the one?” I asked, trying desperately to keep my doubts out of my voice.

“This one,” he agreed. “Charming, isn’t it?”

“It… looks like it’s gonna need a little work,” I allowed. “I’m gonna need to see inside, too, before I can give you an idea of just how much work, though.” Those colorful notices on the door didn’t bode well. While I’d worked in construction and some variety of contracting and carpentry pretty much all of my adult life, I wasn’t equipped to take on structural issues or masonry. I knew who to call for that, but it wasn’t gonna be cheap. The tally had already started running in my head just based on what I could see of the outside.

“By all means.” Owen opened the front door and strode through into the foyer. Maybe he _did_ own the house. Reluctantly, I followed him inside.

The muted scents I’d picked up from outside on the street hit me like a sledgehammer the moment I crossed the threshold. Privately, I upped my estimates on repairs, just for the sheer amount of mold and rot I could smell. If I’d been human, I wouldn’t have come near this place without protective breathing gear, but there was nothing here that would hurt a werewolf. Steeling myself, I turned a quick circle of the entry hallway, putting my mind in professional assessment mode.

The house had good bones, emphasis on _had_. Faded wallpaper hung in peeling strips, and the ancient horsehair plaster underneath was cracked and crumbling. I could see water damage, which meant either the plumbing was in terrible shape, or the roof had big holes in it, or both. There were holes in the walls, and the banister on the stairs was broken halfway up. At least two of the stair treads were missing entirely. The floor creaked ominously under my weight, and made me step gingerly for fear the joists might give out and drop me into whatever hole passed for a basement. I could smell and hear the presence of rodents, a whole host of cats that were probably preying on the little beasts, two squirrels, a possum, and a family of raccoons somewhere deeper in the house. At least one of the multiple fireplaces was hosting a small colony of bats. The stink of their leavings was enough to make my eyes water, and that was just what I could pick up from the entry.

I coughed into my hand and cleared my throat. “Is it all about like this?” I asked Owen.

“No judgements until you’ve seen the rest of it,” he ordered, heading up the stairs. I bit back a sigh and followed, treading a good deal more carefully. I weighed a lot more than Owen did.

I’d thought my first impression was bad, but the rest of the house was a nightmare. If an older-home problem existed, this house had it. I confirmed both the issues with the roof and the plumbing, and traced the odd overtones of honey I smelled when we reached the second floor to a massive beehive that had taken over a closet and a large part of the structural wall. Smoke damage from a fire that probably dated from some time closer to the beginning of the previous century had been painted over with what looked suspiciously like lead paint. There were holes in the hardwood flooring on the second level that matched the ones in the roof, and asbestos tile in at least two bathrooms and the kitchen.

Someone had installed knob and tube wiring to electrify things at some point in the house’s history, but it had never been updated beyond that. I recognized a number of home-handyman repairs that had been poorly implemented over the years before the whole thing had been left to go to rot and ruin. The course of our investigations left us both dirty, sweaty, and scratched up when we accidentally disturbed a nest of feral kittens in a cupboard under the stairs. Most cats hate werewolves as a general rule, and this bunch were about par for the course. So when Owen and I moved to the sagging, half-rotted back porch, it was just to discuss the condition of the house, and not at all a strategic retreat.

One of the fuzzy little monsters actually followed us out to the porch, though it fluffed out and hissed whenever I glanced in its direction. It was either braver or more suicidal than the rest of its siblings. I ignored the little cat, and turned my attention to my friend. Owen hadn’t said much while he’d given me the grand tour, just led me from room to room and let me assess. There had been quite a lot to assess.

“So…” I began quietly.

“What’s the damage, Sam?”

“In frank terms?” I screwed up my expression like the skunk living under the porch was bothering me. “It’d be a hell of a lot easier and about an order of magnitude cheaper to knock the whole thing down and start over from scratch.”

Owen was quiet for a long moment. He stood looking over the weedy lot that passed for a backyard, pensively picking at the disintegrating porch railing.

“And if I don’t want to do that?”

I blew a breath out through my teeth. “Well, you’d need to start with pest control and abatement, get someone in to deal with the asbestos and lead paint, and reasonably, strip the whole thing back to the studs. Then have a master mason and a structural engineer take a look at the brick work and foundation, and the beams and joists, and do whatever they recommend to shore things up and make the structure sound again. Once that’s done, it needs a new roof, and the interior’d need to be rebuilt with new electric, new plumbing, insulation and the works. Assuming there aren’t any major setbacks, after that it’s just finishing and details. Best guess, there’s at least eight to ten months of repair work here, maybe over a year if anything gets delayed, which it will, because that’s how the construction business works. I can’t even talk budget without gettin’ quotes from a few other folks for specific fixes.”

He nodded. “Rather a long time to live in your guest room.”

“It… would be, yeah,” I agreed. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I liked Owen just fine as a friend, but we’d kill each other if we had to live in my house for that long. “Well, this is your project. I’m open to suggestions.”

“I want to fix it.”

And he wanted me to oversee the project. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d acted as a foreman.  “Good thing Alec had me clear my schedule already. I’ll make some calls tomorrow, and we’ll get rolling on this. At least get the critters cleared out and quotes for the necessary abatement and demolition,” I told him.

Behind me, the kitten let out another tiny bubbling growl. The furball seemed entirely unimpressed that the two of us were werewolves. The scrap of fur wouldn’t have even made a mouthful for my wolf, not that my other half was in the habit of eating cats. I raised an eyebrow in the kitten’s direction, and the little calico arched its back and spat at me in response, but it didn’t back down. “Maybe call the humane society, too.”

“I think it likes you,” Owen said. “That fur pattern almost matches your wolf. You should keep that one. You can call it Cookie Junior.”

I frowned at him. “Cats hate us.”

“I heard the Columbia Basin Pack’s Alpha’s mate has a cat that loves everyone, even werewolves,” he pointed out.

“That pack’s even more messed up than ours, and that takes some doing,” I replied. “And I am a _dog_ person, not a cat person.”

Owen crooned to the kitten, who swiped at his face with claws fully extended. He danced back out of its reach.

“I do not need to adopt a cat,” I said.

“You’re a dominant werewolf, Sam. You need something to take care of, and it can’t be me,” Owen said.

I clenched my jaw stubbornly. He wasn’t precisely wrong, but that didn’t mean I ought to bring a manic fuzzball home with me. Rob had let me take care of him, and Rob was coming home, sooner or later. I changed the subject. “Speaking of which, if you can’t stay with me, and given that this place is unlivable, what are you gonna do for a place to live while we work on this?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“If you say so.” It wasn’t like I could pressure him, not since Owen had jumped ranks on me. “Maybe we can’t manage to share space for all that long, but if you ever want company, you know where to find me, especially with the holidays coming up.” Thanksgiving wasn’t far off. Usually the pack made a big event of it, and Owen had done a lot of the cooking in the past. I hadn’t attended since Rob had moved in with me, and I didn’t know what either Owen or I were going to do this year.

He nodded, not looking at me, and waggled his fingers at the kitten. The animal hissed and did a skittery dance to a broken piece of railing, peering at us from its makeshift shelter. It hadn’t run off or hidden like the rest of the litter. The little thing had guts, I’d give it that much. I wasn’t much of a cat person before I turned werewolf, but I respected tenacity when I saw it.

I reached into my flannel shirt pocket and fished out a package of beef jerky I kept on hand for when my metabolism kicked into high gear. The little cat’s nose started working the moment I tore open the plastic. I pulled a bit off the end of one strip of dried meat, and tossed it so it fell to the porch between me and the kitten. It took a few moments, but it finally worked up the courage to come out. A few halting false starts later, and it must have decided I wasn’t going to move, because the cat pounced on the morsel and tore into it with ferocity almost worthy of a wolf. When I tossed a second piece, it was met with equal appetite.

“Sam,” Owen murmured beside me.

“Yeah?”

“Take the kitten home.”

“I don’t want a cat, Owen,” I replied, though I kept on feeding it tidbits of jerky.

“You’re feeding it.”

“It’s hungry. Everything’s gotta eat,” I allowed.

Owen patted my shoulder. “Take the kitten home,” he repeated, and this time I heard the weight of a command behind his words. Owen wasn’t as high as our Alpha, but he could still give me orders and make them stick, now.

I glanced up at him from my crouch on the sagging boards. “Fine, but only because you’re makin’ me do it.”

Something almost like a smile made his mouth twitch. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I doubt it.” I eyeballed the little scrap of calico fluff. It had finished the last bit of jerky I’d tossed and was sniffing around for more. It fussed and sank its claws in when I scooped it up in my overshirt. My breath came out in a hiss when needle sharp teeth pierced my hand. “Think you’d better drive me home if I’ll be managing this little monster.” The kitten wasn’t big enough to do me any permanent harm, but it still hurt plenty.

Owen chuckled. It was a ghost of his normal laugh, but it was something. We left the falling down townhouse by a small side alley, exiting through the crooked gate that hung between it and its nearest neighbor. I wasn’t nearly as sure of this new project as my friend, and all I could hope was that Owen’s pockets were a lot deeper than mine. In the end, it might cost him less to have bought one of the already-renovated homes in the neighborhood than to try and fix this one. He’d told me his goals, and I’d do my best to help him achieve them. At least that gave me something to think about other than the tiny cat in my shirt pocket, doing its level best to murder my hand.


	3. Sam Gains a Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen’s offhanded order leaves Sam stuck with a feline “friend” who hates his guts.

I’d never had a cat before.

Sure, there had been some strays around while I was growing up. My mother had fed them, and my charming dad tended to kick and cuss at anything feline that got in his way, so I’d learned early not to get too attached to cats. It wasn’t so much that I minded them, but particularly since I’d been made a werewolf, they minded _me_. My new roommate was no exception.

Owen dropped me off at my house, but he didn’t stay. He didn’t say where he was headed, and I didn’t ask, though I did call Alec to update our Alpha on the situation. I think he was as relieved as I was, and maybe even a little surprised that Owen had turned up on his own rather than been found drowned in the river.

The kitten took well to the sand box in the corner without any help on my part, and good thing. We’d come to a truce of sorts on the way to the pet store for supplies, but once the fuzzy little creature was in my house it took one good sniff of the air and decided it had enough werewolf for awhile. It was still hiding when I went to bed. I was ready to turn the thing over to the humane society, but when I woke in the morning the kitten was curled up on my chest, purring up a storm.

Werewolves run warmer than humans, so my body heat must have attracted it. I had to admit, it was kind of cute all curled up and buzzing like the world’s tiniest circular saw. That lasted until I freed a hand to pet it. The moment I touched the kitten’s fur, it exploded into a hissing, spitting ball of claws and teeth. That changed the course of my morning abruptly. The scratches were mostly healed by the time I got out of the shower, but I’d made a second unfortunate discovery in the process. My new roommate had fleas, and probably a variety of other bugs cats seem to come with.

I’d been real careful about fleas and ticks when Rosie was still alive. Any animal that spends time outdoors tends to get them, but when you turn furry yourself once a month, they’re a little more problematic. I can’t get sick from ’em like a human could, but they're a pain to clean out of a house, and that doesn’t mean I wanna be a walking blood bank for a bunch of miniature vampires. It took baiting the new kitty carrier with some of the tinned cat food I’d bought to get the little monster into it, and it set up an awful racket when I carried it out to the truck.

My elderly neighbor Ms. Mason was outside weeding her flower beds. I like Ms. Mason, and she’s never seemed to have a problem living next to a gay man, but I was a little short on patience this morning, so it took some effort to be polite when she came over.

“Oh, Sam, when did you get a kitty?” she asked, crooning to the little beast. The traitorous thing let out a pathetic mew and threw itself at her fingers, demanding attention when she reached through the openings in the carrier’s bars to pet it.

“Ah, last night, ma’am,” I admitted. “Careful, it tends to bite.”

“This sweet little thing?” I could hear the kitten’s tiny rumbling purr again. “What’s her name?”

I scratched my head. “No idea yet. I ain’t sure I can keep it. A friend coerced me into taking a stray home last night. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I was gonna see if I could find a vet with walk in hours.” And had half a mind to leave the cat with them once it had been seen to.

“The one I took my Pickles to did that,” Ms. Mason told me. “I’ll give you directions. They’ll get this little one taken care of in no time.”

I listened diligently while she told me all about her veterinarian and her last cat, which had passed away about the same time as my Rosie. The place where I’d taken my old hound dog had closed in the last year or two, so Ms. Mason’s suggestion was as good as any. She put the kitty carrier on the passenger’s seat of my truck, and gave its occupant one last scratch.

“I wish I had the energy to adopt a new cat,” she sighed. “I just can’t keep up with a kitten’s antics anymore, though. Speaking of antics, where’s that nice young man of yours, Sam? I haven’t seen him for almost a week, now. Y’all aren’t fighting again, are you?”

She might be old, but Ms. Mason was still perceptive as ever. “No, ma’am, we’re not fighting,” I said. “Rob had a family emergency and had to rush out of town. I dunno how long he’ll be gone.” It was true as far as it went. Maybe living with a fae for half a dozen years had taught me a thing or two about how to spin a situation after all.

“That’s too bad. I hope everything’s all right.”

“Me, too, ma’am.”

Ms. Mason walked around the front of my truck to give me a motherly pat on the arm. “Now don’t you forget to take care of yourself, either,” she admonished. “You get that kitty all fixed up, and I’ll bring you over a pecan pie later.”

I managed a ghost of a smile. “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. My wolf might insist we didn’t take orders from little old ladies, but my mama raised me to be polite to my elders, even if they were only a decade or two older than my actual years. That, and Ms. Mason made a pretty bang-up pecan pie. It was almost enough to make up for little monster’s howls the moment my neighbor said her goodbyes and left me on my lonesome to brave the vet. Almost.


	4. Makita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen follows up with Sam about both the kitten and his house.

Owen showed up for dinner unannounced, but he’d brought enough fried chicken and sides with him to feed a small army, so I was happy to let him in to eat with me. I’d spent my afternoon vacuuming and washing anything that might’ve come in contact with the kitten and picked up fleas as a result, in between calls to a couple inspectors and getting paperwork started for Owen's house, so I was tired and plenty hungry.

He’d showered and shaved since the previous evening, and didn’t smell like mildew anymore, so he must have found another place to sleep. Owen had on slacks and a button down that smelled new, no makeup or frock, and his nails hadn’t been done, so he wasn’t back to himself entirely. Even so, he seemed a little better.

He set the carryout bags on the island in the kitchen, and glanced around the room. “You didn’t eat that kitten, did you?” he asked.

“No I did not,” I returned dryly. “Though I thought about it a couple times. She’s a regular little hellion.”  

Owen raised a reddish brow. “She?”

“That’s what they told me at the vet this morning.” I shrugged. “Turns out almost all calicos are girls. Got at least two more visits scheduled to make sure she’s had all her shots and everything, and I’ll have to get her spayed before she gets too old. They said she’s pretty healthy for a feral, though, when they gave me the bill. Who knew cat were so expensive?” I complained.

“That’s good to hear.” Owen ignored my grumping and went to the cabinet for plates, and then started pulling containers of fried chicken and coleslaw and baked beans and steak fries and other stuff out of the bags he’d brought. His businesslike motions reminded me of meals we’d shared years before, when I’d still been a lone wolf and Rob hadn’t been part of my life. “So have you named her yet? It had better not be something terrible.”

“I think I picked a fitting one,” I allowed, waiting for Owen to fill his plate before I put food on my own.

“Oh?”

“I’m calling her Makita,” I admitted.

Owen stopped halfway to sitting on one of the island’s counter height stools. “Makita, Sam, as in the company you buy power tools from?”

I felt my face flush. “She sounds like a tiny little buzz saw when she purrs. Screams like one, too, and I’ll be damned before I saddle an animal with a name like cookie.”

He smirked, thumping a tub of mashed potatoes down between us.

“What?” I asked, and focused on filling my plate with food rather than look at him.

“Nothing. Makita is perfect, just perfect.”

I gave him a wary look. Owen wasn’t quite smiling, but he looked more amused than I’d seen him in days. Not particularly desiring to talk about the fuzzy roommate he’d foisted on me, I changed the subject.

“I got the ball rolling on your project house today,” I said between bites of chicken. Owen had picked up dinner from my favorite place, and I was hungry. Taking care of the stupid cat had been more intense than I’d expected.

“What’s the damage?” he asked.

“With the holiday comin’ up, can’t schedule the inspections until next week at the earliest. Nobody’s workin’ on Thanksgiving. I also contacted a pest control company that handles wildlife issues and works with the humane society, though I didn’t want to schedule them until I’ve had the mason and structural guys in first. The last thing we need is someone getting hurt on the property,” I cautioned.

“Of course,” Owen agreed.

I nodded and continued, “I’ve got quotes for the services I’ve contacted and drew up the formal paperwork for the job for you to look over and sign when you’ve got a moment.” Owen was my friend, but I still had my business to consider. Besides, the last time I’d taken on a project for him, I’d been attacked and turned into a werewolf. I wouldn’t say so out loud, though. Owen was still pretty sore about that.

“Of course.” Owen stood from the table. “Let me know what your inspectors find. I’m anxious to be underway.”

“Will do,” I promised. “Just don’t expect miracles overnight.”

“Me? Ask for something unreasonable? Perish the thought.”

I just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me just now that Mercy's cat is also a calico, if memory serves. Not trying to say calico cats like werewolves! We just happen to have based Makita's appearance off of Liv/perdikitti's hoverfluff, who happens to be calico (and also so fluffy as to be spherical).


End file.
